


between two lungs (it was released)

by flightofwonder



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Gen, Hanging, Hurt/Comfort, Strangulation, Temporary Character Death, Whumptober 2020, broken necks, i'm actually using this prompt to make a happier universe for quynh believe it or not, the body horror that comes with bodies that refuse to die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26755384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightofwonder/pseuds/flightofwonder
Summary: It’s a vicious and unforgiving creature, this immortality. And at its worst, it’s predictable.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova & Quynh | Noriko, Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	between two lungs (it was released)

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober Prompt #1: Hanging.
> 
> As for all of whumptober, please mind the tags.

It’s a vicious and unforgiving creature, this immortality. And at its worst, it’s predictable.

There is a crowd somewhere jeering at her, cursing her, no doubt, but Quỳnh can’t be bothered with them. All she understands is agony, that terrifying emptiness, then agony again. And again. And again.

Her spinal cord reforms for the hundredth time in God knows how long, forcing her skull back into its socket, just to detach again in seconds. It’s torture in a way her thousands of years have not made known to her before now. She is the most skilled warrior in this land, in any land, and if her hands were free, she could kill all of their captors with as much time as it takes for her neck to break again. Her skill doesn’t matter here. Just a few delicate bones and muscles in her neck keep her hovering back and forth at death’s precipice, and for all the strength she used to boast of, when faced with some ropes and gravity, she is suddenly as fragile as a bird’s wing.

There are few things Quỳnh hates more than being made to feel weak.

The only thing worse is watching Andrea succumb to the same fate. She only has another handful of seconds before her skull once again detaches from its spine, but through the piercing, unrelenting pain, she still seeks out her other half.

Andrea is suffocating, over and over, her dry cracked lips open in a mimicry of a scream. If Quỳnh had the voice, she would scream on her behalf. She can’t process wants or needs - she’s never alive long enough to get that far - but her whole useless body still yearns for Andrea, Andrea, _Andromache_ , to touch, to hold, _just you and me_ , so close and yet worlds away, and if Quỳnh had even one thumb free she could –

There is an audible crack, and that is all Quỳnh knows as she falls once again into the ravine death carved out just for her.

* * *

When she next opens her eyes, it’s to a heavy impact on a wooden floor She immediately gasps for air. Her lungs rejoice for what they can finally reach, and she swallows breath like a starving man at a feast. 

Everything happens very quickly. Something bright and ferocious licks at the edge of her vision, forcing her to look away, then strong, steady arms wrap around her waist and pull her onto something faster than a man. She’s too weak to struggle, but her mind is alight with just one thought.

Her voice is a pitiful thing, cracked and abused, and it’s a miracle anyone can hear her words. 

“Andr…”

“We’ve got her,” and _oh_ , she would know that voice anywhere, and it soothes her instantly. “Just rest.”

For once in her drawn-out existence, Quỳnh does as she is bid.

* * *

The first thing she sees when she opens her eyes is Andrea.

If Quỳnh had water enough in her to weep in relief, she would.

She finds that her hand can move of its own violation, free of rusting shackles, though it still shakes like a leaf in the wind when she places it on Andrea’s dirty but unblemished flesh. Her fingertips brush the dip in her chest, and she desperately needs to feel that familiar rise and fall that has lulled her through endless nights.

Andrea lungs are no longer captive; she breaths easily and deeply.

Quỳnh is suddenly overwhelmed by the need to kiss her awake, to touch every inch of her, every spot those hateful men touched, but that small act alone leaves her drained. She feels hands lead her lips to water and rearrange her limbs among the furs. Two sets of hands, she realizes, and although her mind is too foggy for complexities like names, she knows and trusts those hands with her many lives. 

Someone kisses the side of her head, someone who had kissed her there an innumerable amount of times before, and she melts into the soft furs around her, her hand still resting on Andrea’s chest.

Her eyes linger on the fire-kissed silhouette for as long as she can. As she drifts off again, a gentle hand running through her hair, for the first time in weeks, Quỳnh trusts that she was safe; she is home.


End file.
